


I Can Make You Love Me

by MidKnight2501



Series: Fall Behind Left Behind [5]
Category: James Bond - Fandom, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidKnight2501/pseuds/MidKnight2501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is breathing very slowly and deeply and Raoul gets distracted watching him do it, ribs flexing under the skin where they’re obvious under his arm. His stomach is under the covers, but Raoul remembers what that felt like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Make You Love Me

Raoul waits until James has fallen asleep to slip into his room. It doesn’t matter how vigilant or scared you are when there’s ambien in your nightcap. 

He doesn’t bother to turn on the light, not that James would notice. He’s flopped on his side, one arm curled around a pillow, mouth open. The sheet is halfway down his chest. Raoul shuts the door and leans back against it a second, gun tapping against his thigh absently. James is very handsome, in a rough cut way, and he has to look for a while to really appreciate it. This far away and James still has all the muscle definition he had when they first met. When Severine took her ride on the agent. He had his turn too, but now he sort of regrets it. Only a little, perhaps. 

He stills the gun and pushes off the door, which creaks. James does nothing, but Raoul doesn’t really expect him to. He walks to the bed, looks at the body under the comforter and sheets, figures out where James’ legs aren’t and sits down there. His weight on the mattress makes James curl over just a little more towards him- not that James would do it awake but Raoul wants him to. He wants- 

James is breathing very slowly and deeply and Raoul gets distracted watching him do it, ribs flexing under the skin where they’re obvious under his arm. His stomach is under the covers, but Raoul remembers what that felt like. He’d slid his hands all over it, covered in sweat, gripped the muscles, felt how disciplined James was in his exercise- James’ skin had shivered and scrunched away from his touch. 

He rests the gun on his knee, over his fleece pajama bottoms, and slowly reaches out with his free hand. James’ hair is very soft under his hand, and he pets him, feeling the shape of his skull. He touches a thumb to James’ cheekbone and rubs it gently. 

The agent’s eyelids don’t even flicker. 

Raoul sighs and wonders how it came to this. 

He used to be very good at his job. He used to have a job. He thinks about M in her flat in London, all those guards, all that money she has, the way she tells others to take the shot, or who to sleep with. It makes him seethe and James finally makes a noise in his sleep and he realizes that that thumb on James’ cheek had somehow turned into a nail and he’s only just scratched him a little. 

The little welt on James’ face breaks his heart a little and without thinking he raises his thumb to his mouth, licks it, then rubs it over the wound, like a mother. 

He’d rather lick the wound, but he’d also rather have James’ revulsion than nothing and nothing is all he’s going to get right now. 

He doesn’t deserve more considering what he’d done in rage, but he wants it anyway. 

Raoul spends half the night like that, stroking James’ hair, gently stroking over the bones in his face- one time even cupping his shoulder and feeling the strength in the muscle there- the tips of his fingers barely, barely tracing the bones in James’ lax hand, over the scarred knuckles, and strong bones, until James’ hand flexes just a little, holding the pillow tighter.  
~~

James wakes to dawn bright in the windows and feels too tired for whatever time it is. Going from London to Japan to Germany has messed up every sense of time he has- even if he’s been here a week- and it doesn’t help that all the exercise he gets is walking from his room to the kitchen. 

He tips out of bed to the floor and starts doing push ups. Then sit ups. Then squats. Then wall push ups. Anything he can think of that doesn’t require leaving the room or asking to go to the gym. He’s not sure they’d let him but he’s also not doing anything that might mean he has to thank his captors. After an hour he’s dotted with sweat and his muscles are starting to tremor. He wants to run till exhaustion but it’s not going to happen. 

After a shower- where he still can’t rub one out and its morning this time and that almost scares him to death- he stands in front of the mirror wondering how his life came to this. On the run, kidnapped, won’t leave his hotel room, not even a makeshift weapon to his name. He runs a hand over the steam on the mirror, angry at himself, and stops midswipe wondering what he’d done to his face. It’s not nearly the worst he’s ever had- not by half, one time some of his teeth had been knocked loose and the bruise had run from his left eye to his jawbone and blood had colored the white of his eye- but there’s a little red mark with a raised center. It’s maybe an inch long. 

It’s nothing. But there’s nothing else going on in his life at the moment and he can’t figure out how he did it doing sit ups and lunges. 

He’s leaning in to look at is closer in the one clear patch of mirror when there’s a knock at the door. 

James holds the towel tighter around his waist and goes to the door, mad but unwilling to have anyone bust in if the door is shut. He opens it after a steadying breath and there’s only a navy sweater man outside. He looks bored.

“Boss wants to know how many waffles you want for breakfast.” He says. 

James stares at him for a long second. “Waffles.” 

“He’s making them from scratch.” The man says. He’s holding an assault rifle. 

James squints at him. 

“They’re actually really good. And he doesn’t cook for just anyone.” The man says when James still doesn’t say anything. “Two? Is two enough?” 

James shrugs, more reflex than anything. He is hungry but he doesn’t want to… He doesn’t want Raoul Silva making him waffles from scratch like they live in a flat together in London. The man is a criminal and a black hat hacker and he destabilizes governments- which the UK then has to try and restabilize- and he… did that… James… 

“Look, do you want two waffles or do you want more?” The man is starting to get irritated. “I’m going to tell him two and you’re going to get dressed so I don’t have to come back here, alright.” 

James shuts the door in his face.  
~~

He doesn’t know why he shows up in the kitchen five minutes later, dressed, hair still damp. He gets a cup of coffee even though he likes tea better, to punish himself. Severine is sitting at the table in a pretty blue dress. Raoul is… He’s not wearing an apron but the rolled up sleeves on the white dress shirt aren’t really any better. His forearms are really strong looking and it makes James want to do another two hundred push ups. Silva is also stirring batter and humming to himself as the waffle iron on the counter heats up.

For a second James thinks he could grab the spoon, snap it against the counter, and stab Silva with the end of it. Then he thinks about punching the man- right now his hands are busy, so he could possibly get a throat shot in. He could put him in a headlock and choke him out, bang his head into the counter, even somehow use the hot waffle iron in the fight- because he hates- he can’t stand- he wants to kill-

“Do you want anything in your waffles?” Silva asks.

“I like them plain.” James says, like he doesn’t have any control over what comes out of his mouth, and instantly thinks, why did I say that. He goes to sulk at the table, staring at his coffee and the tabletop, and wonders if he’s going crazy for being kept hostage this long. He has to escape. Or start a fight. Anything.

“What happened to your face?” Severine asks suddenly, worried. 

James flinches, because he doesn’t know, and why is she even asking. When he looks up she’s biting her lip and her dark eyes are about as big as sink holes. Silva is being very very focused about how he’s pouring the batter into the iron, like he’s removing a cooling rod from a reactor. 

“I walked into a door.” James says to shut her up. 

Silva slams the lid of the waffle iron on accident. They both turn to look at him and Silva looks odd. 

“Sorry, it was… hot.” He says and waves a hand around as an afterthought. James looks away with a blush when Silva licks his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Make one little comment and the characters go bonkers. Wrote this off Bon Iver's Skinny Love (which is what I was picturing last week for Silva petting a sleeping James with a gun) and Patti LaBelle's I Can't Make You Love Me. 
> 
> Oh my god, Adele sings I can't make you love me. It's like a sign.


End file.
